I Don't Know What to Say, So Never Mind
by UndercoverMoffat
Summary: "Castiel, my friend. We're going to save the world." Dean may have seen the 2014 that was doomed to happen, but Castiel didn't – not until The Doctor showed him. Originally a one-shot, now a continued fic. SuperWho, hinted Destiel.
1. I Don't Know What to Say, So Never Mind

**I Don't Know What to Say, So Never Mind  
by HeavensRebel  
Prompt from a friend: A SuperWho starring Cass and the 10th Doctor meeting.  
Post-Rose, Pre-Martha. Not really sure about SPN? Perhaps Season 5-ish. Post-The End for sure. Also, hints of Destiel. **

**Rated K+  
Friendship**

**Summary: "I have heard a lot about you – the Last of the Time Lords." A Doctor and Cass Meeting Fic.  
I tried so hard to keep this in character, really, and honestly I did.  
Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural and/or Doctor Who, SuperWho would have existed a long time ago. Just saying.**

"Would you look at that!" The Doctor's eyes are practically alive, dancing in the low light and glowing in the moon. But Castiel is quite apt and detecting emotions that are hidden far beneath layers and layers of difference. His time with the Winchester's has prove that.

And he can tell that The Doctor is a very lonely man.

"A real live angel! I though you're race had been wiped out in the last War in Heaven?" the Doctor's dark eyes, set behind thick black frames, are scrutinizing every detail of Cass – he's not quite sure when he stopped being Castiel – and the angel thinks that perhaps this Doctor can see the wings that exist on another plane of existence entirely.

"I could say the same to you, Doctor."

The Doctor's face tightens. "Yes, well. Here I stand."

"The Last of the Time Lords," Castiel nods. "I have heard a lot about you."

"Ah. Not so much you, I'm afraid. My knowledge is actually rather limited, surprisingly enough."

"Our existence was, and is, denied, even by – " But he stops, and all the human emotions he's avoided for his entire existence choke him now. "Humanity." he finishes lamely as the Doctor stares at him curiously.

The Doctor's hands are buried deep into the pockets of a trench coat not that different from Cass' own, and the angel shears a soft whirring sound, on-and-off, almost as if the Time Lord is clicking a pen reflexively – or rather, the famous sonic screw driver Castiel has heard off. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, as the angel and the Time Lord read each other. Like they both just now.

"Would you like to see her?" The Doctor asks suddenly, a smile lighting up his features.

"Who?" Cass tilts his head to one side.

"My ship, of course!" The Doctor's dancing on the balls of his feet, dashing around the corner of the low, run-down building their conversation takes place in front of. Castiel hesitates, glancing at the motel door he knows Dean currently occupies, before curiosity gets the better of him and he's following the Time Lord.

When he rounds the bend, a blue Police Box is thrown in his face, the door ajar, top light aglow. His studies it, even reaching out his hand and grazing the wood with his fingertips, only half-surprised that it's so solid and real.

The Doctor sticks his head out. "You coming, or what?" Before disappearing back inside again.

Cass has heard about the TARDIS as much as the Doctor – that it's larger on the inside – and his mind is working through a series of differential equations and paradoxes as he steps over the threshold.

It's surprisingly warm, almost stuffy, and suffocating, and the weak (_human)_ part of him wants to flee.

But the Doctor's actions pull his attention in to far to look away now. The Time Lord is bounding around in a circle, around the consoles, switching flips and pushing buttons, muttering words of encouragement. (Castiel is reminded of Dean's attachment to his car.)

The TARDIS shakes, and Cass grips a nearby pillar, blue eyes flown wide. "Where are we going?"

"Castiel, my friend." The Doctor pulls one last lever with a flourish. "We're going to save the world."


	2. Never Know What It Means

**Never Know What It Means  
_Named after: Simple Design by Breaking Benjamin_  
by HR  
Rated T  
Friendship/Angst  
SuperWho: Castiel and The 10th Doctor, slight Destiel, one-sided  
So because I got so many faves and follows and reviews I"ve actually decided to continue this, in a multi-chap format. This was my headcanon the entire time, so I thought I'd share with you guys.**

**For Doctor Who: Post-Rose, Pre-Martha, 10th Doctor.  
For Supernatural: Season 5. Post The End, Pre Changing Channels, most likely.  
Summary/Prompt: Dean may have seen the 2014 that was doomed to happen, but Castiel didn't – not until The Doctor showed him.  
Disclaimer: *Sigh* I am neither the genius that is Eric Kripke, nor am I British. But if I was both, I would never shut up because I'd have a totally wicked accent, and SuperWho would've become a canon thing a longggggggg time ago. **

The TARDIS lurches again, and Castiel's gripping ever tighter.

"Doctor!" he cries, over the Doctor's whooping and the rush of all of time and space whipping past them. He has the urge to flap his mighty, powerful wings and, to put into Dean's words, get the Hell of out of Dodge, but something tells him that even if he attempted to, the TARDIS "in-flight" mode would stop him. (That's one of the many reasons the angels avoided the Time Lord race for as long as their Father would allow them to – the power they wielded frightened them.)

The Doctor laughs out-loud again, shrugging his trench coat off and tossing it to the side, where it falls into a heap. "Alternate dimensions are so much fun, Castiel! I haven't been to one since –" the Doctor's smile falters, "Well that doesn't matter! Woo-hoo!" The TARDIS shakes once more and then in a flash of popping noises and sparkling lights, it stops and the lights dim.

"We have arrived!" the Doctor says, grin back in full force, bounding to the front door and flying it open. "Welcome to 2014."

Castiel's mouth falls open, and the protests being conceived in his throat die. "Doctor," he whispers, "Where are we?" His voice is broken and more gravelly than ever before, and there's a pain in his vessel's skull he's never felt before. He clutches it in mouth hands, fingertips rubbing the temples. He cries again when another flash of pain blooms in his forehead and he sits, tugging at his vessel's hair. "What is happening?"

"What's the matter, Cass? You've neve' had a headache?" the Doctor tilts his head and treads towards the angel, his accent mangling his words. "No, I don't suppose you angel's would. Well, special circumstances!" He reaches Castiel. "Sorry, 'bout that. Just a little alternate-universe-traveling side-effect." He grips the angel's forearms and pulls him to his feet, where he staggers. "Up and at 'em, Castiel! Watch your step, right this way." He pulls Cass towards the TARDIS entrance.

Slowly, the pain recedes back to wherever it came from, and soon the angel's blinking his eyes wide open, stepping over the threshold and into unknown territory.

His hands fall to his sides and he's blinking rapidly, blue eyes dilated, peering into the night. He can't see past the heap of broken cars and other such mechanisms, and the fact that its night doesn't help this fact. "Where are we?" Castiel repeats, taking a tentative step forward.

Time-traveling is something Castiel has done before, but he's never even attempted an alternate universe (if that's where they really were). The air's starchy and somehow _unreal_ around him, and he passes his hand through it, testing. The molecules stick to his vessel's skin more so than usual, and it's not in that moisture-filled-air sort of way – it's as if they're pushing against him, rejecting his existence.

The Doctor doesn't answer his question, not right away. He's circling his TARDIS, patting parts of it lovingly, "This took a lot outta you, didn't it girl?"

Castiel turns, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "Doctor," he repeats, sternly, using his _You-should-show-me-some-respect_ voice. "I suggest you answer my question." His hand itches reflexively towards his archangel's blade, though somehow he knows it wouldn't be of much use.

"I did," the Doctor's not at all intimidated by Cass' tone and gives another one of those exaggerated smiles, "We're in 2014! Well, the version of it your brother Zachariah sent that Dean of yours too."

"What?" the word is sharp in his mouth, and he's tilting his head again. "That's impossible – I assume Zachariah tore it down after he returned Dean home."

If the Time Lord notices how the angel's voice skips over _Dean_, he doesn't acknowledge it. "Never underestimate my TARDIS, Castiel. Or me, for that matter." Though the grin is still in place, his tone is more serious than Cass has yet to hear.

Castiel doesn't respond, simply turns away and tilts his head towards the sky, listening for his siblings. He doesn't hear them, and panic arises in his throat. "Why can't I hear my brothers and sisters?" he wonders out-loud.

"Because they aren't yours," the Doctor explains patiently. "They're the Castiel's from this universe."

"What does that mean?" He holds his hand out in front of it, and turns it over, studying the palm. As far as he knows, it looks the same – still Jimmy Novak's.

"You're angel-ness is probably all screwy-woohey right now!" The Doctor claps his hands and moves to stand in front of Cass. "Not gone, just none-existent in this universe! I have a couple of theories if you'd like to hear them."

Cass simply stares.

The Doctor continues anyway, "Well either the Castiel in this universe doesn't have one, or there's only room for one of your Graces. And since, technically, you don't belong here, all your abilities, all your connection to Heaven, goes to him."

Castiel drops his hand and takes another step, past the Doctor. "You have yet to tell me _where_ we are, exactly, in this universe."

"Camp Chit-eh-quwah-blooey, or something along those lines," the Doctor tilts his head and stares at the sky. "I'm not entirely sure, I believe it's one of those Native American names."

"Is this where –" Cass breaks off and turns swiftly, towards the Doctor. "Doctor, how did you know about Zachariah? And his transporting Dean to this world?"

A slight blush appears on the Doctor's cheeks and he smiles sheepishly, "I've been watching the two of you for quite some time. I've even met your future selves. I took your advice, by the way, and you were correct! Following honeybees is a rather fun experience."

Cass blinks. "I don't know what you're referring to."

"Not yet you don't," the Doctor points at Cass as he says this, before running off towards the scrap yard of skeletons of once great machinery. "Come look at this beauty, Castiel!" he calls, disappearing behind a dust-covered car that touches the back of the angel's memory with lazy fingers. Curiosity reaches him and soon he, too, is stepping behind the car, studying its dirt-clouded exterior.

The Doctor has poked his head inside, rummaging along the floor board. "A jump start from the TARDIS could get her running, I bet."

It's then that Castiel recognizes it – it's Dean's beloved Impala, windows gone and tires missing, nothing more than another broken memory sitting in a lonely scrap yard, surrounded by overgrown grass and the always-sticky midnight air. For some reason, seeing the Impala like this causes a lump to appear in his throat – but he shoves it away and merely frowns. "That's Dean's car."

"It's Dean of this version of 2014's car," the Doctor corrects, picking up a twisted piece of metal and standing up outside the car, twirling it in his fingers and eyeing it with wide eyes and a slightly pouted mouth. "This looks familiar," he muses, totally oblivious to the confused Castiel.

"Stop what you're doing and put your hands up."

Both Cass and the Doctor do as their told, hands flying up in the air over their heads, expressions startled. The piece of metal in the Doctor's hands falls to the dirt with a soft thud, and he eyes it longingly.

"Dean," Cass breathes, staring at the rugged, broken version of the hunter he gripped tight and raised from Perdition. This Dean is far worse than the one at home, and that lump in his throat is back.

"Who the Hell are you?" This Dean, not Castiel's Dean as much as the 2014 one, is holding a shotgun at their faces; no doubt, it's loaded with rock salt.

"Oh, again, with the guns! Really, are they necessary?" the Doctor chirps, a frown creasing his features.

"Answer the question!" Dean demands, tone harsher than before.

"I'm the Doctor!" the Time Lord says like he's cheering at a fancy cocktail party. "And this here is Castiel! Well, not your Castiel, Castiel from 2009. Well, Castiel from a different version of your 2009. Well, not so much a different version – actually, I'm sure both versions are very much the same up until a certain turning point, but a sort of, but not really, kind of, maybe, a version that ends differently than yours."

"What the Hell are you rambling about?" This Dean's tone is still harsh and demanding, but his grip loosens almost imperceptibly on his shotgun, like he's at the very least intrigued with the Doctor's words. "And what kind of name is _the Doctor _anyway, huh? Talk about self-absorbed, condescending douchyness. And you!" he points the gun to Castiel, "You're not Castiel, I know that for a fact!"

"Oh but he is!" the Doctor insists, taking a hesitant step forward.

"Oh really? Because as far as I know –" he breaks off and shakes him head, "Nice try, buddy, I'm not telling you anything."

"Dean," Cass tries again, drawing the Hunter's attention to himself. "It's me."

"Alternate universe you," the Doctor's stance relaxes just a little.

"I think this is the appropriate time to say that you're not helping the situation," the angel casts a look at his companion.

"Apologies!" the Time Lord gives another of those over-exaggerated smiles. "A lovely chat we're having, this is, but there's a reason for our visit. Don't forget this, Castiel."

Dean's not quite believing these two - as far as he's concerned, they more or less just dropped right of the sky, and these days anything that comes from somewhere unfamiliar is nothing but trouble.

Castiel can read this in his face. And that frightens him; what frightens him more is the fact that he's frightened at all, in the first place.

"Here's an idea," the Doctor muses, taking a tentative step forward. "How's - " But he's cut off as Dean suddenly unearths a flask from his worn and tattered jacket pocket and sloshes water across the Time Lord's face.

The Doctor blinks once, spitting out the holy water now filling his mouth. "Dean," the Doctor stresses his name like he's scolding him, "We aren't one of your demons."

"Shape shifters, then," Dean growls, a silver knife suddenly in his hand. The Time Lord's eyes widen a fraction, his hand flying up in automatic protection as Dean marches forward, knife held high. The blade grazes the Doctor's palm, and he gives a yelp of pain, falling backwards with quick, uneven steps, until he's landing on the hood of what was once the Impala. He gives a hiss of pain and clutches his hand, working his fingers, before looking up at Dean with eyes that dance with just a glint of amusement Castiel is sure Dean cannot detect.

"That hurt!" the Doctor complains, still working his fingers. He turns his palm towards the hunter. "But look on the bright side - I'm obviously not a shape shifter, now am I?"

Dean examines the Doctor's palms, and Castiel notices for the first time that he's oddly quiet.

That he refuses to look at him.

"Sorry, man," Dean finally says with a defeated sigh, and lowers the shotgun still being held high in his hand. "You can never be too sure, y'know?"

He's still not looking at Castiel. So the angel doesn't say a word.

"Where'd you come from?" Dean looks around, glancing over his shoulder, and then the other, before turning his gaze back to the duo in front of him.

"Gallifrey," the Doctor shrugs, "But Cass here - well, I already told you that."

"Gallifrey?" Dean repeats, the word strange and foreign in his mouth; it doesn't quite sit well on his tongue. "What is that one of them third-world countries or something?"

"Not quite," the Doctor settles on, a shadow passing briefly over his face - it's consumed by another quick grin, however, before Cass, or Dean for that matter, can read further into it.

He smiles a lot, Castiel thinks without really thinking it at all, but he can read what's underneath all those wide grins and eye-gleams, because he's seen it in Dean - _his_ Dean - more times than he cares to admit. He's already seen it in the Time Lord, when they first met, mere moments before.

The loneliness. He'll say it again – the Doctor is a very lonely man. He's been clinging to the hope of an adventure for a while.

And he's eyeing that twisted piece of metal on the ground like it's his lifeline.

Dean finally looks at Cass then, and something smolders behind all the brown-flecked green, something Castiel can't identify, something that makes that foreign lump force it's way back into his throat again, clawing and scratching like a wild animal. He tries to say something - he doesn't know what, not yet - but all that emerges is a weak gasp, like that wild lump is growling.

"What year is it?" the Doctor asks then, something creaking in his voice. He looks at Dean with a furrowed brow, a firm set of the mouth, eyes still darting to that piece of metal beneath his feet.

"2013," Dean finally says after a reluctant pause. "So, if you're not demons, 'shifters, and you're not Croats, what are you?"

_Croats._ The word means nothing to Castiel, even though something burning in the back of his mind tells him that it should.

"Aw, one year off, not too bad," the Doctor tosses Cass a grin, "Could be worse. And, you!" he turns back to Dean, "I've already told you. I'm the Doctor!"

"Are you human?" the words are out of Dean's mouth in an instant, and his fingers are clenching around his shotgun again.

The Doctor eyes it warily, choosing his words carefully. "I'm a Time Lord."

"A _what?_"

"It's exactly what it sounds like," the Doctor says, as if that'll clear up the muddle that is the whole situation, "I travel through time and space in a blue box."

"A box," Dean repeats incredulously.

"Yes, a police box!"

Dean blinks slowly, "So you travel through the whole friggin' universe in a – _cramped_ – blue police box. How . . . well, how do you fit? Is it bigger on the inside, or something?" his tone is mocking, but both Cass and the Doctor look at him for a long moment. "Oh, come on, seriously?"

"Seriously," the Doctor repeats in a rough, American accent. He offers another grin – he seems to have a limitless supply of them.

"If you can travel through all of time and space," Dean copies the Time Lord's earlier words, "Then what are you doing," he glances around, "Well, here? It's the God damn apocalypse, man, you can go anywhere and you're _here._ Why?" He says without speaking that he's still wary, suspicious, of the duo before him, still not sure if he believes everything he's hearing.

Cass is aware that his words are, toned-down, so to speak. They lack a certain wittiness and sarcasm that the angel has certainly grown accustomed to since he pulled him from Hell. This Dean, this 2014 – er, 2013, Dean is very, very tired.

"We're here to see you," the Doctor says then, and Dean's blinking his tired, oh so very green eyes slowly, drawing back automatically, as if afraid of the Time Lord's words.

"Whaddya mean? What do I have to do with your space-man stuff?"

"A lot, actually," the Doctor muses, crouching down and picking up the twisted piece of metal on the ground that Castiel has long forgotten about, before rising to his feet slowly, eyes still trained on Dean's face. "See, Castiel here, and I. We're going to help you save the world."


	3. Try Not to Tear It Apart

**Chapter 3: Try Not to Tear it Apart**

******So,**** I don't want this to end up being too long. Ten chapters, max, but, there doesn't seem to be much interest in this? If not, I'm just gonna**** abandon this little project ****of mine and (attempt) to focus o****n **_**Let's Don't Stop 'Till We Bleed**__**. **_**(Chapter Five has been wrapped up in a bow sent to my Beta, so, that'll be coming your way soon if you've been keeping up with it!)**_**  
**_**  
****This feels horribly out of character. Please, constructive criticism would be the best gift you guys could give me. ****Please, please tell me if this is as horribly OOC as I think it is. ****  
UnBeta'd, all mistakes are my own.****  
****DC: Sigh. I wish. I honestly wish.**

"What's the point?" Dean asks the Doctor, whose sitting in the passenger seat of the old beat-up car that is most defiantly _not_ the Impala, dangling the piece of metal between his fingers, taking his ever-famous sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and pointing it at the unidentifiable object. It lights up and whirs, and Dean swerves the car with a, "Whoa!" When he's regained control of the vehicle, and they're driving steadily on the bumpy road again, he gives an exclamation of, "What the hell is that thing?!"

"It's a sonic screwdriver," the Doctor says offhandedly, frowning still at what's in his hand. "Will my TARDIS be alright?" he looks up at Dean, tucking both objects into his pocket, eyes glinting brighter than before.

"Your what?"

"Time and Relative Dimensions in Space," Castiel says from his place in the back seat, and though he's looking out the window and studying as much of his darkened surroundings as he can, he's sure the both of them can tell he's desperate to be a part of the conversation, to be useful.

"What is that, your spaceship?" Dean gives no acknowledgment to the angel, and it's starting to strike a nerve, over and over, unrelenting.

Something must have happened, he decides, in this version of 2013. Something unrelated to him. Something else.

Something.

"And time machine," the Doctor adds on, leaning over the dashboard while putting his slim, pale hands on it. "This car of yours moves rather slow."

Dean gives the Doctor an angry look, and immediately punches the gas – the car groans in protests, but gains speed.

"Better," the Doctor nods.

"You never answered my question," Dean's grip on his steering wheel tightens. "If this is some alternate dimension, like you say it is, then what's the point of trying to save it? Man, it's long gone anyway, but still. You have your own _Happy Days_ world to get back to." He sets his mouth in a firm line, "What year is it, where you're from?"

"2009," Cass interjects.

"Ah, the good ol' days," Dean gives a bitter laugh that makes Castiel cringe. "And you're saying it's not different, from yours? How things are going?"

"We are still trying to stop Lucifer," Castiel meets Dean's gaze in the rear view mirror, holding it there for as long as he can. Dean's still not looking away, so he continues. "Zachariah, he took the Dean from my dimension here, in your 2014."

"Figures," Dean snorts, breaking the eye contact between him and Cass. "He didn't do that to me, in 2009, I mean, though."

"Different dimension, different possibilities. There are an infinite number of them," the Doctor gaze travels between the hunter and the angel. "There's one where traffic lights are blue!"

"My assumptions are since you had no idea it would come to this, you never met back up with Sam," Castiel explains, wishing more than he probably should that Dean was still looking at him, even if it was through the transference of a mirror.

"So, what, you're saying this is my fault?" Dean snaps, hands still tightening sporadically on the wheel. "This whole God damned apocalypse is my fault because I didn't meet back up with Sam?! That was his choice, Cass, damn it. He's the one who walked away, he's the one who said ye –" He cuts off, choking, and his eyes are alive and red with rage and sadness, and that foreign lump in Cass' throat is bigger and hurts more than ever.

The Doctor doesn't offer a comment.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel whispers.

"Stick a sock in it," Dean snaps, and turns the wheel sharply to the right, bumping over a series of hills and rocks. Off in the distance, Castiel can see a cluster of cabins, black silhouettes against the grayish-blue background of trees, and a thought appears in his head.

"Doctor." The Doctor turns around and looks at him expectantly. "Is it alright to have interactions with my alternate universe self?"

"Oh, yes, of course," the Doctor nods vigorously, "No harm in it! Good thing, too, those Reapers, they're quite bothersome, loads of trouble."

"Reapers?!" Dean gives the Doctor another of those suspicious glances.

"Not the kind you're thinking of," the Doctor comments, "There's different . . . species for all of your monsters. Different Reapers, different werewolves, different vampires. Even a different Satan."

"Oh, great, 'cause we didn't have our ass full of them already!" Dean's angry, eyes narrowed and voice rough with sarcasm. Castiel flinches without really thinking about them, and leans back in his seat, as far away as he can get.

There's another moment of silence, in which the Doctor's still glancing back and forth between the two of them, but another bump over a hill and the halting of the vehicle breaks that – the Time Lord and the angel both look out the windshield, eyes wide, gazes curious, while Dean simply climbs out of the car without a word.

He slams the door behind him, causing both the Doctor and Castiel to jump in their seats. They watch as he storms off towards a cabin to right, with multicolored strings of beads hanging in an otherwise empty doorway; he pushes through them, and disappears inside.

"Shall we follow him then?" the Doctor says more cheekily than Castiel thinks is appropriate, and in the next second is bounding out of the car after Dean. He, too, vanishes through the doorway, but from his place in the back seat several feet away, the angel can still hear him laughing loudly.

Cass is still wide-eyed in his place, fingers curling around the back seat. He's not quite ready for this, not ready to see what this universe is composed of. If it really is the way Dean, his Dean in his universe, described . . . It shouldn't exist. It's more than likely dangerous, a threat, against the laws of his Father's Creation. A rebellious act.

He's not one to talk.

And then there's the matter of the Doctor. The Time Lord just dropped out of the sky, told the angel they were going to save the world. Cass wouldn't be surprised if the Doctor knew how it all ended, how everything turned out. More accurately, he expects him to know. He can see it in the shadows of his eyes.

The thing about the Doctor is he's about helping people, no personal gain whatsoever, and that's a rather admiral attribute. But Castiel's time with Dean, with Sam, with his own brothers, has taught him that not every body can be trusted.

He shouldn't trust the Doctor. But he does.

Said Doctor stuck his out of the doorway just then, and it really doesn't need to be said that he's grinning yet again. "Oh-ho-ho, Castiel, you're going to get a real kick out of this one! Come, come see, it's brilliant! Absolutely, one hundred percent, bloody brilliant!" He laughs again and ducks back inside.

That curiosity he's had ever since he fell from Grace surges through him again and slowly, he's peeling his fingers off the leather of the seat in front of him, and they're grasping the handle of the car. He gets out awkwardly, his movements stiff.

No, he's not quite ready for this.

This fact burns stronger in his mind when he steps through the doorway, pushing through the multicolored beads, his eyes falling on first, Dean, whose sitting backwards in a wooden chair, forehead resting on the top, and then the Doctor whose practically vibrating with excitement.

And then . . . himself.

He and his alternate self lock eyes, and there's a collective gasp between the two of them.

"Castiel, meet Castiel!" The Doctor exclaims with another laugh. "Castiel seems to have broken his foot, had a bit of a mix-up with a Croat, no big deal. You'll heal quickly, am I right?"

Alternate Castiel gives a lopsided smile that Castiel himself has never once even attempted on Jimmy Novak's features. He isn't even sure if he knows how.

"This is rather interesting," alternate Castiel says with a slight slur. His eyes are glazed over, and not quite focused on, well, any thing.

"Are you alright?" Castiel takes a step forward. The air between them is static-filled and _wrong_, the same sticky-molecule feel clinging to every spare inch of Castiel's flesh.

"It's just the pain meds," Dean mutters from his place in the corner.

"Ah, yes, I apologize for that," alternate Castiel murmurs, gaze focused on his bandage-wrapped left foot. "Perhaps this wasn't the best of times for you to stop by." He tilts his head towards the Doctor. "Though, I haven't seen you in _years._"

"You've met me, before?" the Doctor finds a chair and sits in it, putting his elbows on his knees and balancing in his chin on the backs of his hand.

"Are their alternate versions of yourself, Doctor?" Castiel wonders out loud. He's an angel, he should know about these things, but ever since he fell from Grace, certain knowledge has been limited to him. This being one of those things. Then again, knowledge of the Time Lords in general was sparse in the first place, and that doesn't quite help.

"It's a big universe," the Doctor replies with a gleam in his eyes. "I suppose there would be."

"Of course there is," alternate Castiel grins largely, and his head falls back onto his pillow. He closes his eyes and sighs, "But you're not there yet are you."

"What are you talking about?" Dean lifts his head and frowns as him.

Alternate Castiel waves his hand and chuckles, "Again, I apologize, it's the medication. Ever since this whole thing with my foot -"

Dean snorts, "Please, it started before that."

There's a sudden tension in the room, and Castiel stands awkwardly. The Doctor, on the other hand, is exchanging his glance between the trio with the look of utmost fascination on his face.

Dean notices this. "What?" he snaps, folding his arms across his chest.

"What?" the Doctor repeats, perking up. "Oh, no, don't mind me, just observing!"

"Hey, this isn't some soap opera put on for your enter-friggin'-tainment," Dean stands up.

"Dean," both Castiel's warn at the same time, and out of the corner of his eye, Castiel sees the Doctor press his mouth into his fist, as if stifling laughter.

This irks him more than it probably should. "What about this do you seem to find so amusing?"

"Wow," alternate Castiel breathes, "I really did have a stick in my ass, didn't I?"

The Doctor can't contain himself any longer – he's breaking out in loud, long peals of laughter, to the point of where his eyes are water and he's practically doubled over in his chair. "That!" He points at alternate Castiel. "The two of you, together, it's absolutely -"

"Bloody brilliant, we know," Dean snaps. The Doctor shuts up, leaning back in his chair, but the corner's of his mouth still twitch. Dean continues, "Saving the word, my ass!" He's venting now, Castiel can tell. He's seen it happen before. "Sitting around, laughing your assess of. I'm glad you find this all so damn _funny_. I'm glad that my life only exists for the purpose of giving you your own personal dinner and a show!" He's breathing hard now, fists clenched at his sides and his eyes are tinted red with fury.

The Doctor stares back for a long moment. "Are you done now?"

Dean scoffs at this, casts the other three in the room a dark look, and storms out. Castiel makes a move to follow him, automatically, but his alternate self says, "Let him go." And he stops.

"Castiel," the Doctor says then, drawing the attention of both them. He focuses on the alternate, strung out one, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the twisted piece of metal he'd picked up before. "Do you recognize this?"

Another one of those lop-sided grins, "It's a screwdriver."

"Yes, but what _type_ of screwdriver?" the Doctor waves it back and forth as he says this.

"Laser," alternate Castiel shrugs, and then tilts his head. "Have you met Professor Yana yet?"

"No," the Doctor frowns. "Who is Professor Yana?"

"Spoilers," alternate Castiel winks, like this is some inside joke they've shared, that the Doctor should know. "But, no, really, I can't tell you, not yet." He yawns. "I'm not exactly, what you say, _sober_ right now either. I think it'd be a good idea if I got some sleep."

"I have no need for sleep," Castiel says without really thinking about.

"You will," his alternate self corrects, head falling back on his pillow and eyes closing.

"Not if we can help it," the Doctor says softly, and something flashes deep in his dark eyes.

Alternate Castiel goes wide-eyed then, sitting up, and turning to the Doctor. "Doctor, you told me once that traveling between parallel worlds was impossible."

The Doctor leans back in his seat and runs a hand almost nervously through his hair. "Ah, yes, I did, did I?"

"Yes," alternate Castiel leans towards the Doctor.

"I don't understand," Castiel frowns. "Zachariah could, and we are here now. If what you told . . . me, was the truth, then how could we be here?"

The Doctor sighs, "It's all very complicated, really. A big ball of wibbly-wobbly, after all." He looks back and forth between the two Castiel's. "Preexisting universes, the one's your Father created, they're sealed off, inaccessible, even with my TARDIS. You lot can access them, of course, because you have a part of Him in your Graces. But," he raises a finger, "The ones built around a particular person, or being, a _soul_, if you will, they exist. Floating forever in time and space, like their own little bubble."

Alternate Castiel tilts his head, "So you're saying there's two types of parallel universe. I've never heard of such a thing."

"Neither have I," Castiel says, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he feels rather foolish.

The Doctor ignores this, "You could put it that way, yes."

"Fascinating," alternate Castiel leans back on his pillows.

The Time Lord grins, "Isn't it though?"

Castiel interjects, "These ones that aren't built by God Himself, these are the ones accessible by your TARDIS?"

The Doctor nods silently.

"This is a personalized universe," Castiel turns the idea over in his head. "Built around Dean."

"It would appear so," the Doctor concurs. "Your brother, Zachariah, created this world. Not your Father."

"Zachariah made this?" alternate Castiel repeats with a frown.

"Yes," the Doctor and Castiel say at the same time. The latter goes on to explain, "I had presumed he'd tore it down, however, after he returned Dean to our universe."

"Well, even if had, it'll never stop existing," the Doctor folds his hands in front of him. "Nothing ever really stops existing."

"You tell people that, though, don't you, Doctor?" alternate Castiel offers another one of those smiles that Castiel himself thinks is all wrong.

The Doctor hesitates. "Only when I need to. Only when it's better for them."

"This universe is a bubble that Zachariah blew," alternate Castiel plays on the Time Lord's earlier analogy.

"Every universe is it's own soap bubble, in one big, massive bathtub!"

"Well, then, who's taking a bath?"

And then the three of them fall silent.


End file.
